The Six Insights of Sam Winchester
by Miss Anne Thropy
Summary: Sam loves his sister and he doesn't really question this for most of his life. Except for six separate times that continue to shape his life even after they are done.


_Disclaimer-SPN belongs to the CW and to Kripke co. Not making any money from this, which is simply for entertainment only._

_Notes: In this universe, Dean is the older sister and there are only minor spoilers for seasons 1 and 2. _

_The Six Insights of Sam Winchester_

Nine

He thinks that's how old he is the first time that he notices his sister as a person in her own right and not just as his caretaker. Even though she's thirteen, he thinks of her as the mother that he never knew. He wants to tell her he wishes she really were his mother instead of being his sister, but he knows better than to ever say that to Deanne. He said once to their father and the look on his face was enough to let Sam know what a big mistake that was.

He was going to tell Deanne his wish though, cause he figured that she needed to hear how appreciated she was. So he waited until their father was on a hunt before he went into her room to let her know.

The words died in his throat when he came to the doorway and saw her thin back shaking with silent, yet violent sobs. Old pictures were scattered around her on the bed, all of them showing a woman with blonde hair and a sweet smile. He thought he could hear Deanne whispering something, but he didn't dare go and ask her if she was. He knew that the grief he was seeing was something so private it would be a big mistake to interrupt it. So he turned and walked away as quickly as he could.

He never did end up telling her anything.

Thirteen

Hot summer days that make him feel stupid and sluggish and nights that never seemed to end is what he recalls of his thirteenth year. Well, that is what he tells his father and Bobby later. He doesn't think that he could tell them what memories the summer brought him. Especially not when they mostly centered round Deanne.

Deanne, who was at the perfect ripeness of her age in that summer and knew it: picture perfect face, big tits that looked soft and inviting, a narrow waist, long, golden waves tumbling down her back almost making an arrow towards an incredible arse and legs that supermodels would envy. All of that was packaged into tight as hell tank-tops, t-shirts and cut off shorts that had the pockets sticking out from the ragged hems and gave their father a heart-attack whenever she wanted to walk to the store for a Popsicle or a pop. She was a catch and the boys in the town wanted to be the ones to reel her in.

But she never really gave them a chance. Nor did Sam and their father. John had the patented scowl for any would-be Casanova sniffing around his daughter and Sam had shot up to an impressive enough height that gave him an intimidating look despite his still being utterly gangly and coltish. And Deanne herself never gave any sign that she would have it otherwise. Which made Sam wonder if his sister really knew how pretty she really was or if she simply was waiting for a local boy to be brave enough to come and get her.

Sam wondered about that until he realized that he never heard any telltale sounds of his sister and another boy coming from her room when their father was away. Just silence. A silence that he would try his best to keep as he lay in the next room with his fist wrapped tight around his cock and his mind trying to keep the picture of Deanne wearing nothing but her cheap blue cotton Wal-Mart bra and faded panties lying barely covered with a sheet due to the summer heat. Or when she would sit in the backyard sunning herself while wearing her tiniest tank-top and some barely there shorts.

He would do this in quick, almost angry bursts and come hard into a wad of Kleenex. Which he'd throw away in the kitchen garbage the morning after he was done while crying out his relief and shame at wanting a woman he was never going to be allowed to touch. If she ever noticed, she never said. She just went on with life like it always was in the summer: hunting, trying to survive the heat, the glances and a bored and lonely little brother. That was all that concerned Deanne. Nothing more.

Eighteen

He's on the edge now. Like he's going to burst out of his skin. He knows it has to do with the closing of his high school career and the fact that his sister has a steady boyfriend now. Or the closest thing that she can have when they are always on the move and off the grid.

Sam tried to be nice to Kyle, but he can't stand the thought of the slightly dangerous looking young man touching his sister. It's not that he's worried about Deanne being hurt. He knows better than anyone that she's capable of taking care of herself and then some. But Sam's envious of Kyle, since he knows that Kyle will be allowed to lay Deanne on a bed, strip her of all her clothing and open her legs to claim the reward between them. And he never will.

He picks more fights and gets reckless when he hunts. But no matter how many times he splits his knuckles on some idiot's head or successfully bags a weird thing of the night, he's going to be haunted by the desire for his sister.

Sam knows that they notice he's off somehow, but neither of them will talk to him about it. His father only gives him a sidelong glance after the hunts and simply keeps quiet. He's not that good about talking about emotions and feelings and he learned his lesson from the last time that he tried. Sam was moody and belligerent and they simply argued with each other until he stormed out, leaving Sam with Deanne.

Or alone, if Deanne was out with Kyle. Sam liked those nights, since he could work on his homework in peaceful silence and ignore the coiled up tension that had seemed to take up permanent residence in his gut ever since he was thirteen. He's tried to date other girls, but the relationships always fizzle out. Something's always missing and he's tired of being empty and inadequate, so he'd rather have a wank once a week and think of Deanne's golden hair and the floral scent that always clings to her.

At home is where she finds him when she stomps inside the house. He doesn't look up from his Advanced Calculus homework as she throws her jacket on one of the kitchenette chairs. Not until it sprays small drops of water all over his notebook.

He opens his mouth to complain, but shuts up when he notices the tautness around her lips and the too bright shininess of her green eyes. He stands up instead and walks over to her and wraps his arms around her, not caring that she's soaking wet against him.

She balks a bit at his touch, but finally gives in and melts against him. He strokes her tangled hair and makes soothing noises once the sobs start tearing out of her, harsh, rough and angry. They move towards the sofa in the darkened living room and he makes her sit down beside him. She still won't say what's wrong, but he doesn't care.

He just wants to comfort her, make sure that she's going to be okay.

They sit like that for minutes, or hours, he doesn't know. He knows that it's a long time until she begins to talk. She wanted to surprise Kyle for his birthday, but found him with a girl that Sam used to date. When she confronted him, he called her a dirty white trash skank. Which in turn prompted her to hurl a glass of beer at him and run out of the bar.

At the mumbled, almost incomprehensible in parts tale, Sam's hands clench and he makes a mental note to visit Kyle as soon as he can. He's not a good a fighter as their father, but he can hold his own. Especially against petty criminals that have insulted his sister.

He gets pulled away from his murderous thoughts by Deanne saying that in the end, she knew it was going to happen, she was just disappointed in being proven right. Sam wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but as he opened his mouth to ask, she beat him to the punch and casually explained that he had wanted to sleep with Deanne, but she wasn't willing to go that far. Especially not if it meant pregnancy and a lifetime of living in a small town were the most excitement a woman with a child got was going to Wal-Mart on the weekends.

Sam doesn't know what to say to that. He had been under the impression that Kyle and his sister had already slept together and now hearing that she was still untouched made him…uneasy, to say the least.

Namely because a small spark of hope shot up inside him. The old spark of hope that maybe he would be the one granted that honour and that price.

He struggles with squashing that hope and barely succeeded until he feels her nipples through her shirt, which through repeated washings and the rain, has become thin and is revealing them in all their tight, hard glory.

A wave of heat washes over his face and he tries to retreat. He even goes so far as to mumble an excuse about towels and dry clothes as he makes a hasty retreat to her bedroom to get them. He thinks he's safe, but she follows him there.

Sam pretends to be busy gathering her clothes and towels, but once she calls his name, he stops abruptly and looks up. Only to see Deanne undoing the buttons on her shirt and letting it drop to the floor. Her jeans join it scant seconds later, as well as her bra and panties. Her hair is covering her face and his mouth goes dry as he watches her walk slowly towards him.

He swallows convulsively, and wonders if it's a dream. But when she reaches up and kisses him, he knows that it isn't.

She whispers to him, words that come out in a heated tangle into his ears and all he can pick out is that she wants him. Only him. It has always been him and she's not going to hide from that knowledge any further. She wants him, that's all that matters to him as he finally snaps out of his shell-shocked state and returns the kiss that she's giving him.

It's not rough, the way that her mouth is moving against his. It's tender and soft and he doesn't want it to stop. He wants it to keep going for as long as he possibly can, but she breaks it off as she huddles into his chest for warmth, making him feel like a selfish fucker for forgetting that she was naked and cold from the rain earlier.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close to him and they stand there for several minutes as he let his warmth seep into her. She sighs and snuggles up even more against him and he's afraid that for one minute, he's going to come in his pants. Maybe she realizes this, because she pulls away from him and walks towards her bed, her smouldering look one of open invitation that he simply can't resist.

He watches her lie down on the bed, all loose limbs and careless grace before he joins her. He feels slightly ridiculous, since he's so tall and the bed is small, but once she's lying curled up against his chest, the feelings vanish completely.

It's a brief respite before she tilts her face up to him and they start kissing again. The kisses are still gentle and soft, but there's a crackling undercurrent of lust and desire that she had repressed when they were standing at the doorway, but she was now letting loose that they were in bed together.

Sam doesn't mind. He wants this. He's eager for it. So eager that he starts trying to climb out of his clothes only to get hopelessly tangled in them. They have to stop for a bit as she sorts him out, but there's no awkwardness over the interlude. They just continue on, their bodies bare and sliding against each other as lips and hands roam over the planes and curves of their bodies.

He ends up above her at one point and he doesn't know how that happened. He's glad of it though, since he can take a really good look at her face. Deanne's flushed and her lips are swollen from their kissing. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and glassy as they focus on him.

He smiled down at her and bends his head to kiss the top of a breast that was as soft and welcoming as he had imagined. She moans and shifts slightly, letting her legs fall open so that he's lying directly on top of her, his groin pressed directly to hers.

Sam stifles a shudder that courses through him at that moment and starts sliding down her body. He doesn't want to spoil the moment for her by embarrassing himself and he wants her to have a good memory of her first time. She stiffens at first, but relaxes when she feels him lay his head on her hip. She doesn't move much, not even when he slowly starts moving his face closer to the warm juncture between her legs. She knows that he's as nervous as she is, she can feel his heart beating against her thigh, so she lays still and lets him burrow first his nose, then his mouth against the outside of her cunt before he reverently pushes the folds apart to reveal the hidden tender flesh inside.

Her breath hitches and she lets out a small gasp as a small tremor goes through her. Sam pauses and looks up at her. Her eyes are closed and she's biting her lip to keep from crying out. Her fingers are clutching the blanket so tightly that it seems her knuckles are white, but with the light being the way it is, he can't be sure.

Sam smiles slightly to himself and goes back to his self-appointed task. He thinks her taste is too sharp, like fresh-cut lemons. But when he gets another taste of her, he changes his mind. She's just right. If she had tasted of the merest hint of sweetness, it wouldn't have been right. Deanne isn't sweetness. Never was.

He licks her again, letting his tongue trail down wetness from the hood all the way down to where warm, slippery fluid was trickling out in bursts. Deanne squeaked at that and bucked her hips towards her face with such force that she nearly broke Sam's nose. As it was, it hurt enough for Sam's eyes to water, but the sighs and moans escaping from her throat in low growls made him forget it.

Once she's panting, Sam stops licking her and instead moves up her body, making her blink unfocused emerald eyes at the loss of sensation between her thighs. Her confused look lasted for a few seconds before it was replaced by glassy-eyed bliss as Sam slowly and gently slid his middle finger inside her. She half-gasped, half sobbed, making him afraid that he had hurt her until the gasps and sobs turned to a throaty growl that told Sam he was doing well so far.

He stroked her with one finger, then two. Deanne's moans got louder and hoarser as he scissored, thrust and moved his fingers until she was bracing her hands against her shoulders as she tried to get his fingers deeper into her. Sam smiled and lowered his mouth onto her cheek. She was ready for him.

Without preamble, he removed his hand from between her legs and got himself between her spread legs. He could feel her heat radiating against him and it was nearly the undoing of him. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as the emotions started rising up inside of him and that stopped it for a bit. But he wasn't stupid enough to believe that he was fine. There was very little time left now.

With this in mind, he positioned himself and muttered a small prayer that it wouldn't hurt her so badly. He had slept with other girls that had stopped cold after the first thrust, too afraid to let him continue, too afraid to make him stop. Those had been horrific nights, since they had all started to cry once they had reached that embarrassing plateau. He hadn't wanted to do anything with any of them afterwards.

Not that he felt that they had led him on. Not that. It was because he didn't want to deal with the frustration and helplessness that accompanied the moments of self-awareness that had kicked in. He had enough misplaced guilt to deal with already.

And he was going to be damned if it was going to happen with Deanne. He was sure that if it did, he'd never get over it.

He decided to take the chance after a small mewl escaped from her parted lips. Sam snapped out of his thoughts and took a deep breath. If he was going to continue, he was going to have to move fast. So taking that sound as encouragement, he grit his teeth and proceeded to thrust. She gasped out at him entering her, but after the first initial sound of surprise, she closed her eyes and lay bonelessly, her body yielding up to him without a fight.

Sending up a silent prayer, he moved. Gently as he first found his rhythm, then gaining speed with each thrust as he finally found it. Sam feels like he's moving through water as he plunges into her soft, slick insides again and again. He can't believe how soft and how slippery she is. Can't believe his luck. Especially when she clenches him involuntarily whenever he thrusts too far in.

She moans and howls against him, raising her hips to meet his bruising thrusts. She claws at him and on one occasion, bites him. It hurts and he knows he's going to have teeth-marks on his shoulders, but it doesn't matter. As long as she's enjoying herself, she can scratch and bite him bloody.

He doesn't know when it starts to build, the bursting need to come. He doesn't want to give in to in, he wants to make sure that she's also going to get her release, but once the feeling of it starts to register, his body betrays him.

He doesn't come all at once, but in spurts of liquid heat that make Deanne give a short sound of surprise and her eyes open. She stares at him with a look that's a mixture of surprise and concentration, as if she's trying to look deep inside her body to see what he has just released into her body.

That's all Sam remembers before he wakes up alone, in a cold bed. Deanne is nowhere to be found and he's about to rush out in a panic to look for her, but is stopped by the sound of his father and Deanne talking. He understands now, why she left him alone and cleaned everything up. Apart from his clothes in a haphazard pile on the floor at the foot of the bed, nothing's out of the ordinary in her room.

He swallows the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat and quickly gets dressed. He gets out of her room as quietly as he can and goes to his own room where he sprays himself with some cheap cologne to hide the scent of sex that's still lingering on his clothes. He'll take a shower once he's done talking to Deanne and his father.

He walks into the kitchen and is greeted by Deanne in the same way that she always has. She hands him a cup of coffee and he's about to say thanks to her when his father starts talking to him, letting his sister escape. He wants to go after her, but their father is insistent in talking to him. And despite always wanting to rebel against his father, he stays and listens to what he has to say.

Twenty-two

Sam thinks its surreal, seeing Deanne in his living room in the middle of the night. He hasn't seen her since he left for Stanford and yet…it feels like the years have stood still. She looks at him like she always has, the same level gaze of confidence and strength that he always remembers being her trademark.

Deanne's only changed superficially: her hair's tied up in some kind of knot at the back of her head and her clothes are rougher versions of what other women are wearing. She still has that smirking tilt to her lips and those cat eyes that can tell him everything he wants to know, or be opaque and dark without spilling any of her secrets.

She is unfailing polite to Jess, despite the telltale tightness at the corners of her lips. Sam knows that she's not too thrilled with Jess, but she isn't going to say anything to him. She knows that the years have changed him in ways that she wasn't there to see and if he was happy with Jess, she wasn't going to begrudge him that.

In fact, once they leave, she tells him as much. She didn't want to drag him back into their father's world. She knew how much going to college meant to him, but she needs to find their father. He's not been gone for so long and she's got nothing on him.

Sam understands, but he also tells her that it won't be for longer than the weekend. He loves his sister, but he has his future to plan for and he's not going to abandon those plans when he has worked so hard for them.

Deanne only nods and in that split second, he feels a twinge of sorrow. Later, when they're sleeping in a cheap motel room, he acknowledges that he wanted her to ask him to stay. But he knows that she won't. Not when she's been alone for so long. Not when she's determined to prove that she and their father can handle it all alone.

But as they get further and further into the trail that their father left, Sam begins to notice Deanne's treating him as if they hadn't been separated. Sam notices, but doesn't want to say anything unless he's jumping the gun. Part of him wants to be with her, but he knows that it's simply childish wishes. They can't be together like that anymore. They aren't children anymore and from what he can see, she's living her life fine.

He continues to think like that until the end of the job. They still aren't closer to finding their father, despite getting rid of a white lady and even though she isn't saying anything, Sam can tell Deanne's upset. Her eyes are tired and red and her lips are pursed with annoyance, but she won't open her mouth to ask him to come with her.

She only drives him home and they say their good-byes. He thinks that's probably the last time that he's ever going to see her again, but he's proven wrong again. Twenty minutes later sees him sitting on the hood of the Impala, numb and soot-stained as she rubs small circles on his back. Jess is gone. His future is gone.

They go to another motel, this one cleaner, and a bit pricier and Sam knows she's doing it because of him. He can't register much else. The grief and shock are nearly overwhelming him into catatonia and it's all he can do to keep on moving. She knows this, so with infinite patience, she helps him strip out of the smoke-infested clothing and leads him to the bathroom.

She strips down to her underwear and steps into the shower with him, washing him as the lukewarm water washes over them. He closes his eyes and lets her soap his body and even obligingly lowers his head so she can shampoo the soot out of his hair. She does this all gently and carefully, making sure that he's completely clean before she rinses off the soap and shampoo, making him rest his head in the hollow of her neck.

It's only then, as he's inhaling the warm scent of her that it hits him how much he has lost and how he's never going to get any of it back. It's when he starts to feel the tears that are sliding down his face and mingling with the water from the shower. He wraps his arms around her and doesn't let go until every single harsh, painful, choking sob tears itself out of his throat.

She understands and lets him cry for as long as he needs to, both of them ignoring the water as it cools down and the cramps in their legs for standing in such a small place for so long. They step out of the shower after Sam's crying has slowed down to quiet, hiccupping sobs and she takes charge once again, briskly drying him off with one of the towels before she focuses any attention to herself.

He gets dressed as he watches her strip off her soaked underwear and loosen her hair, which he's surprised to see is almost down to her knees. That's not the only change he can see in her: there are deep scars all over her torso and on her legs. There's a three inch gouge deep on the outside of her right leg that has healed deep purple, showing it went past the skin and into the muscle that makes him wince. That wasn't there when he was still around and he wonders if he had been there, would the injury never have happened?

Sam's thoughts are scattered when she comes to the bed, dressed only in a faded rock t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants that had also seen better days. Her hair is like a curtain of wheat, falling down her back to envelop her like a living cloak. He wonders if her hair is as soft as…he stops that train of thought dead in its tracks. He doesn't want to think that. Doesn't want to think about her. Not when it's still so fresh.

Deanne doesn't say a word. She climbs into the bed and wraps herself around him, as if to protect him. Sam appreciates the gesture, despite being all too aware that at five feet, five inches and 135 pounds; he's the one that would be protecting her instead. But it's a comforting gesture from childhood, when Deanne and dad were his entire world and they made everything safe and somewhat okay for him.

And lord knows that he needs her comfort tonight. So he gratefully puts his head on her chest and listens to her heart as it beats out a steady rhythm that eventually sends him to sleep without any dreams for the first time in as long as he can remember.

Twenty-three

She's the one tight-lipped and broken now. Ever since dad died and charged her to take care of him, she's been wound tighter than a clock-spring and he doesn't think there's anything he can do. She pushes him away and keeps him at arm's length and it's driving him fucken crazy.

Sam's humoring her because he knows that the past year has been worse for her than him. She's faced death twice and the loss of their father. She's got the guilt of knowing he traded his life for hers and she can't handle it.

So he watches her as she drinks too much and gets her rage out into fights and killing the monsters that they hunt. He only sees her crack when the whole incident with Gordon trying to kill Sam comes to a head. They get out of it as best as they can, and that's when she finally cracks.

Deanne's never been a crier and when she does cry, it's almost painful to watch, since her sobs are harsh and throaty, putting him in mind of tearing flesh. He knows that she hates it when people see her cry. Or worse, try and hold her when she does, but he doesn't care. He wants to do the same for her as she did for him the night Jess was killed.

Surprisingly, she lets him hold her. Even carry her to one of the beds in the motel. Once they are under the cheap and threadbare blankets, he kisses her.

He thinks that she's going to push him away, or punch him, but she melts into him and he's taken back to that first time, on a rainy day when he was eighteen and she was twenty-two. He deepens the kiss and she eagerly accepts it as her hands are scrabbling across his back in an effort to get his clothes off.

It's all a blur to him, the way that their hands move across each other's bodies, how clothes are flying all over the place before the heat and friction of bare skin against bare skin is apparent. He marvels at how tight she is still and wonders exactly how many times she has been with someone since that first time, since she feels just like she did when he first entered her.

The rest of it was lost in the haze of completion, lust and longing they were both indulging in as the night drew to a close. They went to sleep at dawn in each other's arms and woke up only when the moon was high in the sky again.

Neither of them talks about the incident and Sam thinks it's going to be the same as it was all those years ago when Deanne surprises him by crawling into his bed and initiating another bout of needy, frantic sex that leaves them both bruised and tired. The next day they take off for another job. But the pattern has been started.

Twenty-four

Sam strokes her hair away from her face and plants a soft his kiss on her forehead. She smiles slightly in her sleep, but doesn't wake up. He smiles at the innocent gesture and turns another page of the book in front of him. There has to be a way to break the deal. Somewhere, something has to tell them how.

He's already lost too many people he cares about. He's not going to let Deanne lay her life down like that. Not without a fight. He needs her to be with him. Not just as a sister, but as a lover. And he's not going to let those bastards grind them down.

So he lets her sleep while he researches and lets her go on top and scratch him if she needs it. She's his sister. That's all that matters in the end.

End.


End file.
